


Break and Burn and End

by Jo_Manta0089



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Taylor Swift - Begin Again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 19:16:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/564362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jo_Manta0089/pseuds/Jo_Manta0089
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And you throw your head back laughing like a little kid<br/>I think it's strange that you think I'm funny cause<br/>He never did.<br/>I've been spending the last eight months<br/>thinking all love every does is<br/>Break and Burn and End..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Break and Burn and End

Break and Burn and End

 

She breathed in deep and slow, hands sliding inward across her slim stomach. She held it in, green eyes wide and bright in her reflection. She released it with a small tremor, turning sideways. The dress was black, with a scoop neck that showed off her collarbones, and the hem tickled the sides of her knees. Her ankles looked smaller in the black heels.

HE didn't like it when she wore heels.

She did.

Nodding, she turned her back to the full-length mirror. She slid her father’s old leather jacket on and tugged the zipper to the top. She dropped her keys into a pocket and tucked her headphones into her ears. She smiled as the soft lyrics filled her heart.

HE never got this song.

She did.

She walked down the stairs of her apartment building and held the door open for Mrs. Willows. The air was crisp with winter and felt cool on her skin. She took her time, soaking up the music of her own world. She had time. Her date would be late anyway. They were always late.

The café was nothing spectacular but nice enough. There was a hostess waiting at the door that smiled and motioned toward a table in the corner. A boy sat there, knee bobbing as he fiddled with the packets of Sweet and Low. She wove her way gracefully, slowly, through the tables. He nearly leapt from his seat, standing by the table as she approached. He had a wobbly, silly grin on his face, like he couldn't believe this way his life.

It was…cute.

He scuttled around the table and pulled out her chair. Her chest throbbed as he helped push her chair in.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

He didn't know how nice that was.

She did.

He returned to his seat across from her and a waiter came to get their drink order. She ordered water, eyes still captured by the goofy grin on his lips. They were wide and pink and soft and she forced her eyes away. Nothing good would come of this.

“You know, I wasn't really sure you’d come. Honestly, I can’t imagine why you would. Girl like you, gosh.” The boy laughed nervously, big amber eyes shifting shyly. “Thank you for not leaving me hanging.”

She nodded. She couldn't imagine anyone doing something that cruel to this boy. Not with those eyes. They were big and watery and warm. She could almost love those eyes but what was the point? Love always hurt in the end.

“Do you like James Taylor? I love him. I have all but two of his records.” He asked as he scanned the menu, glancing up every other second. He wasn't very subtle.

“I own all of them.”

“Wha-seriously? No way!” he laughed, white teeth shining in a smile more pure than she’d ever seen on a man. “I've never met a girl with that many. Most girls have never even heard of him.”

“My dad and I listen to him a lot.” She replied as she lowered her eyes to the menu. She already knew what she wanted. She needed to stop staring.

“That’s cool. You close to your dad?”

“I was.” She said softly. Those big amber eyes went dark and warm and his smile turned sad.

“Was he a cool dad?”

“He was a softy. Mama was the…alpha in our house.”

Then he laughed. He laughed loud and happy, head tossed back and mouth wide, laughed. It was like a little kid, like he’d hear the most hilarious joke ever. Which was strange. She wasn't trying to be funny. She wasn't funny. HE never thought she was funny. HE said she was a bore.

“That’s awesome. I can totally see that. So you were daddy’s girl?”

She nodded, shifting her eyes away again. The waiter returned with their drinks. She watched the man roll his eyes at the boy as he rambled off one of the dishes. He winked at her before excusing himself with their orders. She resisted the urge to glare. She knew the type.

He didn't seem to notice. He started talking about his dad who was the sheriff with a bit of heart problem but still got bacon on Sundays and holidays. He talked about his mom who was the greatest woman in his world and how every year on his birthday she had taken him out to the woods and they’d make wishes on stars. She told him about the walks she would take with her dad every morning before school and how they were always holding hands. She told him about how her mama would laugh all day and hug dad and call him cute and how he’d blush and smile. It hurt too much to talk about Laura.

“You know, I didn't pick you for the shy type.” He said suddenly while munching on a French fry. She blinked back at him. “Yeah. You've always got this look, like you can’t stand the thought of people talking to you. Like its painful how stupid people are and you’d rather stab their eyes out than listen to them.”

He laughed when she glared at him.

“But seriously, you don’t talk much.”

She shrugged. He didn't know why.

She did.

Love was a horrible, painful thing. It burned and destroyed and ended. Love was fire.

Once their plates were cleared and their glasses empty, he paid the bill and she left a small tip. The waiter sneered at him but quickly scuttled away when she glared.

“Brrr!” he whined when they emerged from the café, huddling deeper into his red hoodie. “Coooold!”

She rolled her eyes a little softer than usual. He just laughed. Laughed that little boy laugh. She almost smiled.

Long fingers brushed the top of her wrist. She froze, eyes intent on the piano fingers. They pulled pack, a weak, hurt laugh breaking free of his chest. He went to tuck the hand into the pocket of his jeans.

Her chest throbbed.

Big amber eyes widened as she laced their fingers together and walked forward, chin titled up. Then, he grinned, squeezing her hand.

HE never liked holding hands.

She did.

And suddenly she wanted to tell him. Wanted to tell him about the man who’d wrecked her world, who’d torn everything apart into shreds and destroyed everything she’d ever believed in herself. Wanted to tell him about the man who’d laughed when she told him her family had died in a fire and rolled his eyes when she cried. Wanted to tell him about the hatred and the pain and the fire that still sat deep in her heart.

“Did you guys ever watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas? Not the newer one, not the Jim Carey one but he original one. The animated, thirty-minute one with the original narrative. My mom loved that movie. We’d always watch it on Christmas Eve. It kinda bugged dad how we would quote the entire thing.”

She shook her head and let the smile bleed onto her lips.

It didn't matter.

He was gone.

Eight months was enough.

“Dad always loved It’s a Wonderful Life.”

 

But on a Wednesday, in a café, I watched it begin again.

**Author's Note:**

> Female!Derek and Stiles, college age. HE referencing Male!Kate (still a douche bag). I didn't want to fight finding a female name for Derek, mostly cause I don't usually do female Derek. But it fit.
> 
> Anyway, likes, hearts, comments, all are welcomed and loved.
> 
> Jo Manta


End file.
